darkness lays her crimson cloak
by Mia-Zeklos
Summary: "It's her ancestors that people should be spreading rumours about, Ragnar decides as he watches Lagertha make her way through the circle of the audience she'd gathered around herself; she's the one who doesn't look entirely human."


**Notes: Dipping into this fandom/ship's territory for the second time, so it's all still pretty new. It's been especially fun since this delves into the characters about fifteen years pre-canon, so... hopefully, it turned out well enough. As usual, feedback is welcome and I'd love to know what you think!**

It hadn't been their first kiss; not even close. It hadn't even _felt_ like a first, but it had weighed more than any other before, and the feeling is impossible to forget even now, hours later. Ragnar isn't surprised to find out just how pleased he is by that.

The wedding had been weeks in the making. That much had been made clear to everyone in the end, when Lagertha had climbed off of her boat, still surrounded by her friends, and had approached him where he'd been standing on the edge of the forest. Both their lives had been a mix of that until now, of the earth and the sea, and the place they'd picked had been perfect for that, positioned right on the edge between both. Just like Midsummer had been the perfect day for the ritual to take place. What better time than the longest day in the year?

Now, as he watches her dance and spin and twist so quickly that she becomes blurry at the edges, it's easy for Ragnar to see that they'd made the right choice. They're leaving for their next planned raid tomorrow morning and it would have been a crime to postpone this for the sake of any treasure that could be waiting for them. It's nearing midnight already and yet the sun hasn't set completely; the last rays still dancing over the bonfires scattered in the field around them and for all Ragnar cares, it could go on that way forever.

It's all too similar to the day when they'd first met. Her dance then had been quite different, but it had been a dance nonetheless and he'd been more impressed with it – with _her_ – than he'd been willing to admit from the very start. She'd ended up saving his life in that first shared battle and he hadn't been able to forget her since and their courtship had been a short one just because of that. The thought still makes him giddy; that there had been almost a hundred other men in the same raiding party that he'd been in and she'd still picked _him_. His family isn't wealthy enough to be of any note, which means that it really had been that simple – they'd met by chance and that had been all it had taken for both of them to just _know_.

Lagertha prefers to call it _fate_. Her faith in the gods is unshakeable and – given the rumours that he's descended from Odin – rumours he can neither confirm nor deny with complete honesty – Ragnar can see why she'd think that their first meeting had been set in stone.

It's _her_ ancestors that people should be spreading rumours about, he decides as he watches Lagertha make her way through the circle of the audience she'd gathered around herself; she's the one who doesn't look entirely human. Not even up close, when she nears him and pulls him up to his feet in one swift move.

"We depart in five hours," she says and yes, if the dusk that passes for darkness at this time of the year is anything to go by, she's right. "I thought you might be ready to go."

"I am." These are their last hours in Kattegat for quite some time and it wouldn't do to waste them. "Did you have something in mind?"

She opens her mouth to speak but then smiles instead when she realises that she's being teased. " _Yes_ ," as if it isn't obvious already. "Come on."

They make their way between the bonfires and the people spread around them and it's not unlike the times when they're back from a raid, he thinks, because all eyes are fixed on them this time too, but there's something _different_ about it now; something that makes his stomach twist in a way he can't fully define.

"What is it?"

Lagertha's smiling now, and it's beautiful. _She_ 's beautiful, which isn't new, but like this – with the wreath still woven into her braids, illuminated by the distant light of the fire – she seems impossible too; strange and ethereal and so unreachable that it hurts.

"Nothing." It's new, this hesitation, and Ragnar has no idea how to chase it away.

"Then come," she urges, pulling him by the hand and that's the only thing guiding him through the darkness as she disappears into the forest without warning.

The walk through the woods isn't as graceful as he'd hoped, but Lagertha doesn't seem bothered. She has a specific place in mind, it would appear, and so he doesn't object to being led forward until they reach it.

"I brought our clothes for tomorrow with me," she says as the narrow path they'd been making their way through ends abruptly, replaced by an open space. It's a field, a near perfect circle surrounded by the forest on all sides, with nothing but an old oak tree in the middle. Everything in front of him looks _raw_ in the perpetual twilight and without the glare of the bonfire, Ragnar can see it all – Lagertha included – much more clearly. "And our weapons too. I left them by the tree."

He's never been here before. He's sure of it as soon as Lagertha encourages him to come closer with another tug on their linked fingers and it's enough to distract him from her words. He's lived in Kattegat all his life and yet she'd made it her home almost as soon as she'd arrived and this – all of this – is as good a sign as any that this really is where she belongs now. The thought makes him almost ecstatic – and even more willing to hurry up and follow her lead than he had been before.

"You've planned this," he accuses, the realisation making his blood heat up, his heart racing as he pulls his bride closer to his body. The kiss that follows isn't one born from passion, though; it's uncomplicated and affectionate and it's only when Lagertha pulls away that Ragnar realises that he'd been running out of breath.

She smiles back, eyes lighting up with mischief. "Of course I have. What would be the point in going back home tonight? We leave at dawn."

 _Home_. This is just as small, just as _unassuming_ as everything she's done tonight, but suddenly it feels like everything. It has made him hyper attentive, this wedding, and Ragnar wonders why no one's ever told him it would be like this.

"Are we here to look at what you've prepared?" It's clumsy and he should know better than to try and distract her if she's got something on her mind, but it works. Lagertha laughs and steps away from him, leaning against one of the lower branches behind her.

"No." Her hair and the flowers tangled up in it, as well as the white of her dress, are enough to make her stand out in the shadows of the oak tree. It's an invitation if he's ever seen one and Ragnar approaches her again, one hand cupping her cheek while his other arm snakes around her waist. He can feel the heat of her skin even through the layers of their clothes and that's as far as his patience takes him; the next thing he knows is that he's pulling back and then they're both tumbling to the forest floor, Lagertha's fall softened by his body as she lands on top of him. She laughs, loud and clear, and doesn't protest, choosing instead to settle down more comfortably in her place. Her hair drapes over his shoulders like a curtain when she leans down for a kiss and she grins into it when the hold around the small of her back tightens almost imperceptibly.

Ragnar already knows by the glint in her eyes that she's predicted his next move by the time she wraps her legs around him even more firmly and grips him by the collar of his shirt to reverse their positions. She stretches out on her back like a cat and it's no effort at all for him to rise to his knees, putting enough distance between them to unlace the front of her dress. It's not enough to get her out of it, but it's not like that's what he's aiming for anyway.

It's impossible, Ragnar finds, to bite back his smile when Lagertha gets hold of his hair and _tugs_ on it like she's currently doing, and it's especially gratifying when she tilts her head back, opening herself to him even more.

He doesn't hesitate, lips leaving a trail of kisses down her neck as his hands wander down to her chest and she gasps, her fingers curling around one of his wrists and guiding him down, past the skirts of her wedding dress and where she wants it most.

This he can do. Her body is almost as familiar to him as his own is at this point and Ragnar knows just how to curl his fingers to coax another gasp out of her, this time accompanied by a breathy moan. He smiles again, leans down for another kiss, quicker than any of the ones they'd shared today, and far more impatient, and pulls away so that he can get his own breeches out of the way.

Lagertha - never one to just sit back even when she's not _required_ to do anything - props herself up on her elbows to watch at first and then follows his momentum, her nimble fingers handling the ties with more ease than he'd imagined. It's mutual, then, this restlessness that has taken over him, and the knowledge of that brings an inordinate amount of satisfaction with itself.

He doesn't get to enjoy it for too long. His entire body is coiled tight with anticipation and he can see it reflected in the way Lagertha looks at him; in her flushed cheeks and heated touch. It's what prompts Ragnar to kiss her again and it's rougher this time; sharp and _hungry_ and so consuming that when she sits down on his lap, it's sudden enough for him to bite down on her lower lip - _hard_ \- from the surprise.

"Easy."

If it hurts, Lagertha doesn't let it show. If anything, she seems far too pleased with herself for taking him off guard and he retaliates by thrusting up as much as he can in this position, grinning when her eyes slide shut and her nails dig into his skin where her hands are braced against his shoulders.

Every single time they do this is bliss. She's perfect, more so than anything Ragnar could have imagined in more ways he even thought existed and the feeling is addictive. His bride seems to feel the same way, luckily, and _that_ is yet another thought he can't get enough of as they find their rhythm and Lagertha responds in kind to his caresses by kissing her way down his chest as much as their position will allow.

It never lasts long when they're this far gone, and it's not really a surprise this time - they'd been together all day during the festivities, but they haven't had the chance to really be together and it's reflected in the urgency in their movements now; in Lagertha's body tightening around him as he pushes up into her and holds her there long enough for him to know that she's tethering on the brink between pleasure and the oversensitivity that goes hand in hand with it. He knows better than to keep going when she starts shivering, but it's a close thing; it feels almost _too_ good and his own eyes threaten to close from all the sensations her climax brings with itself. Lagertha's breathing in his ear is harsh and shallow and, sure enough, "Don't move," she orders, voice sharp enough to have a laugh bubbling out of him.

"As you wish." _Gods_ , even like this, while he's being kept on edge, it's exquisite. He groans when she pulls away and sinks to her knees on the ground, one of her hands wrapping around him and only pulling away when he's spilled himself over her fingers.

It's as if all the tension in his body has evaporated all at once and Ragnar lies down on his back, eyes fixed on the stars in the greyish sky above him until Lagertha comes into view. She seems a little more composed too, but she doesn't stop fiddling around she's fished his shirt from where he'd tossed it before and folded it so that she can turn it into a makeshift pillow. Ragnar's eyes are already closing by the time she lies down next to him, but it's a pleasant sort of exhaustion and he lets it claim him, his last conscious thought making him wrap his arm around Lagertha's shoulders as he finally falls asleep.

 **o.O.o**

From the corner of her eye, Lagertha watches Ragnar as he dozes off mere seconds after leaning against the side of the boat. Even in his sleep, he twitches and turns, making faces in response to whatever it is that he's dreaming of. She smiles at the sight and tries to settle into a more comfortable position as well, taking in the rest of their boat's occupants as she does.

They're an odd bunch, the raiders from Kattegat. Restless, too, and too chaotic when compared to the far stricter order the Jarl in her own village had established. It's not something she _minds_ , necessarily, but it's going to take some getting used to. The same goes for her husband, although it might be easier with him – she already knows him well enough to know that she wants to be with him, after all.

 _Her husband._ Another thing that she would have to ease into. They've been together for months and everyone - the two of them most of all - had known that things had been heading in this exact direction, but it still feels different now. It's almost palpable in a way that she can't really explain and it would have been frustrating if it'd been even slightly unpleasant, but it isn't. It's just new - the landscape, the people, the house she'll spend her days in once they're back, the boats, even - and to a degree, it's like an unexplored new land; it makes her whole being buzz with the excitement to explore every little thing and take it apart to see what's inside.

It feels good. Better than good, even - it feels _strange_. And strange, she's found, is what fits her best.


End file.
